


Hawkeye's Guide to Naming Your Pet

by phae



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Humor, Kittens, Literally Pet Names, Multimedia, Pet Names
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 16:51:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phae/pseuds/phae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Do not get ideas for naming your pet from Hawkeye. Or, well, not from Clint Barton, Hawkeye. Kate Bishop, Hawkeye has more sense than that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hawkeye's Guide to Naming Your Pet

**Author's Note:**

> While I was working on [Five Times the Kitten Woke Clint Up](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7169888), I asked tumblr what Clint would name a cat, and peeps were none too confident in his naming capabilities.

"You can't name her Lucky," Kate says, lounging back on his couch while Clint's stuck crawling around on the floor looking for a wayward kitten, the one _Kate_ startled into bolting.

 

"Lucky is a perfectly respectable pet name!" Clint insists, pressing his face up against the wall to see if she's managed to slip behind the bookshelf again. This cat, he swears, is a futzing magician. "It's right up there with Spot! And Patches!"

 

"Yeah, that's great. Except that your dog is _already named Lucky_!" A couch cushions nails Clint in the back of the head, which of course means he rams the front of his head into the wall. He throws it back with just a bit too much _oomph_ , but Kate just catches it anyway.

 

"But then I won't ever have to worry about calling 'em by the wrong names," Clint points out. "And one name for two pets is loads more efficient."

 

" _No_ , Clint."

 

" _Un_ lucky?" Clint tries, turning to look at her over his shoulder with his best Puppy Dog Eyes. "Lucky, Jr.?"

 

"Ugh, you're hopeless." Yeah, that look from him has never worked on anybody; he's no Steve Rogers. "As the one who's going to be getting her tag made and keeping up with all her vet records, I have ultimate veto power," Kate declares. "And I say she gets her very own name, that has nothing to do with the dog's."

 

Clint moves on to the cabinets in the kitchen and grumbles, "So why don't you just name her then?"

 

"She's not my cat. You don't go around naming other people's pets, Clinton. It's not polite."

 

"No, you just tell them all their names suck?" Clint shoots back, popping his head up over the counter so he can make a face at her.

 

"Only because yours do. I'm sure you'll eventually land on something that's not completely terrible. Just text me when you do, and I'll bring her a nice bedazzled collar with her name on it."

 

"Can landlines send texts? Hey, that's not actually a thing. I don't think?" With no luck on the lower level, he starts in on the top row of cabinets, and sure enough, there the little devil is, mushed between a package of Oreo's and the empty coffee tin. "Like, if you text my landline, and I answer, it's not gonna be that creepy robot lady reading your text at me like she's inciting some Satanic ritual, right?"

 

Kate shoves her face down into the lone throw pillow on Clint's couch--actually a re-gift from Kate herself, since apparently the sequins make it look cheap. " _Oh my God_ , you are an absolute _disaster_."

 

* * *

 

Today

 

11:52 AM

 

im calling her tasha

11:53 AM

 

11:55 AM

 

that emoji makes you look like a angry egg

11:57 AM

 

come on she looks just like you

11:58 AM

 

lookit that vicious tackle

11:58 AM

 

domo never stood a chnace yo

11:59 AM

 

I worry about you.

12:02 PM

 

Choose a different name.

12:02 PM

 

noooooooooooooooo

12:03 PM

 

do you no how long it took me to come up with tasha?

12:04 PM

 

Yes, yes. The struggle is real.

12:05 PM

 

Now choose a new name.

12:06 PM

 

Or one will be chosen for you.

12:06 PM

 

12:07 PM

 

12:08 PM

 

* * *

 

The line connects and Tony's already going a mile a minute. "Who is this? How'd you get this number? Jay, get me a trace-"

 

"Tony, Jesus, cool your paranoia for a sec to let me get a word in edgewise?" Clint gripes.

 

There's the droll, even background noise that Clint tends to associate with JARVIS, which, there's no doubt that's making Tony pause more than anything Clint's said, and then he's shooting back with, " _Barton_? Are you calling me from a fucking _landline_?"

 

Clint looks down at where his fingers are twisted in the phone cord. "You know what, never mind--"

 

"No, nonono," Tony steamrolls over him. "You called for a reason. Spit it out."

 

"…I need a cat-appropriate name."

 

There's a telling pause. "Is this a bit? Are you going on a late night talk show and no one told me?"

 

"What the hell? No, I just need a name for the damn cat."

 

"What cat?"

 

"The cat I found!" There's no way Tony hasn't seen the tweet yet. He posted it a week ago, and Tony's got them all on some JARVIS version of a Google alert. "Well, she's a kitten. And at least i think she's a she? Not that that really matters. Unless she's preggers. But she's way too young for that, right?"

 

"How the fuck would I know?" Tony asks, and he's got that edge to his voice that means he's talking just as much with his hands as he is with his mouth. "And why are you calling me, asking me what to name her anyway?"

 

"Kate vetoed all my top picks, and then Natasha said I can't name the cat after her, and now I'm out of ideas."

 

"That sounds like a personal problem."

 

"Fine, geez. Thanks for nothing, asshole."

 

"Oh! Waitwaitwait!" Tony interrupts before Clint can get off the phone. "Fletch! Name her Fletch! Hawkeye, Arrow, and Fletch! Then you'll be a matched set."

 

"His name is Lucky! Not Arrow! My dog is not named Arrow!" Clint shouts, pulling the receiver away from his ear so he can yell as loud as he wants.

 

"Now we just need to get you a fish, and then you can name it Quiver!" Tony crows, laughing raucously down the line.

 

Clint hangs up without bothering to reply.

 

* * *

 

Bucky's holding the kitten up with both hands, nose-to-nose with her because apparently he can't even think about naming a cat without communing with it first.

 

He's rocking his usual Grr-Arg glare, but she doesn't seem too bothered by it. Clearly they're a match made in heaven.

 

"I think I got it," Bucky finally declares after a needlessly drawn out pause.

 

"Yeah? You gonna share with the class?" Clint asks, arms crossed and shoulders hunched defensively. He's the one that rescued the little menace, the one that's been feeding her, cleaning up after her, letting her commandeer his damn pillow. Buck's barely been here ten minutes, but as soon as he stepped through the door, all stealthy and quiet like usual, she's been a perfect angel.

 

"Hmm. Professor Purrs-a-lot."

 

Clint just stares at him for a moment 'cause him and Steve, man, they troll and they troll hard. But then Bucky finally manages to tear his gaze away from the cat long enough to look over at Clint and cock an eyebrow, and apparently for once, the One-armed Wonder is being completely serious. Clint doubles over and nearly sprains something, he laughs so hard and so sudden.

 

Bucky pulls his arms in and cradles the kitten to his chest. "What's with you?"

 

"Futzing hell," Clint gasps out between giggles. "I didn't know it was possible, but you're actually worse at picking names than I am!"

 

"You think so, huh?" Bucky's expression has fallen into that mulish standard he relies on way too much. "Well, the Professor here didn't try to claw _my_ damn face off the second she saw it."

 

That cuts the hilarity short with an uncalled for punch to the gut. Clint glares over at Bucky and the damn cat that's curled up against his chest, purring up a storm. "I hate you."

 

* * *

 

"I vote for Flagship Squeaky."

 

Clint startles and has to catch his feet on the lip of the ledge before he topples off the roof. A hand appears and grabs one of his flailing limbs, pulling him back upright. Clint's head whips around to see who the hell managed to sneak up on him without even coming through the one door to the rooftop or up the fire escape, and of course it's futzing Deadpool.

 

"What the hell, Wade?" he demands with a scowl.

 

"To name the kitty," he replies simply, head tipping over to the side.

 

"Wha--she's not a rubber duck!"

 

Wade holds up his hand, pointer finger extended. "But she is squeaky."

 

"No, she isn't! She _meows_! 'Cause she's a cat!"

 

"Sounds a lot like squeaking to me." Wade shrugs then leans forward into Clint's space to tap at the shell of his right ear. "You sure you don't need to get your aids checked, broheim?"

 

Clint knocks his hand away with extreme prejudice. "What are you even doing here?"

 

"Heard it through the grape vine you were looking to name a cat. So, obviously, I came to offer my services." Wade bows, and then has to quickly scramble back upright when one of his swords starts to slip free of the sheath.

 

"What grape vine? I talked to like two people--"

 

"Four, actually."

 

"--and none of them even talk to you!"

 

"Shows what you know." The fabric of Wade's mask distends around his mouth, and Clint really hopes he's just sticking his tongue out like the immature jerk he is. "Me and Katie-Kate totes magotes follow each other on Twitter. We're practically besties 5eva."

 

"Pretty sure that's not how that works," Clint mutters. "And anyway, I'm not naming her Flagship Squeaky. She doesn't squeak!"

 

"Fine. Suit yourself." His voice has taken on a definite edge of pout. He steps around Clint and then up onto the roof ledge. "Twitter thought it was an awesome name!" he hollers as he tips back off the roof. Clint doesn't bother to watch to see if he's gonna catch himself on a railing or just keep falling and pick himself up later. It's always disconcerting watching him pop his shoulder back in place like it's nothing, nevermind seeing him walk off a 60-foot drop.

 

* * *

 

Clint's trudging around the kitchen is his sleep pants, trying to scrounge up something not expired for breakfast while the coffee's percolating, when the kitten darts into the kitchen and ninjas her way up onto the counter. He lets her be because it doesn't matter how many times he tries to move her, she's just gonna go wherever it is she's set on no matter what Clint wants.

 

He should really just ignore Nat and name the cat Tasha anyway.

 

And then, of course, there's a crash behind him, and the little bit of boiling liquid that splashes over his bare feet is enough to fill in the details before he even turns around to check out the crime scene. Head hanging low in disappointment already, since now he's going to have to find clothes and scrounge up some cash to get something at the coffee shop down the block, he slowly pivots to face the damage.

 

The kitten's knocked off the whole coffee pot somehow, and it's lying in a pool of brown blood on the tiles, glass shards everywhere.

 

"Aw, coffee no!" Clint bemoans lowly, bending down where he's at to better assess the damage without risking stepping on the glass.

 

It's not a second later before the cat's right there on the floor next to him, and _shit_ \--did she burn her paw pushing the coffee pot out of the machine? Did she land on any of the glass? But she's cool as a cucumber (except not, because she is no way, shape, or form cool around cucumbers), sitting there with her tail wrapped around her paws, bent down and lapping at the puddle of coffee on the floor, which--

 

"Really? Coffee?" Clint asks incredulously, not to mention rhetorically. "That's what you've been after, crawling all around the kitchen? You're a caffeine addict?"

 

She doesn't lift her head up from where she's stealing all his morning joe, but her beady little eyes pop up to look at him. For an animal that can't even tell what he's saying, she sure can judge the shit out of him.

 

"Yeah, yeah. Who'm I to talk, right? Between you and Luck, we're never gonna have a healthy meal again."

 

Hearing his name, Lucky comes trotting into the kitchen and deftly navigates around the mess on the floor to nose at the empty pizza box that's still sitting on the counter before twisting around to whine at Clint 'cause there's no breakfast pizza inside.

 

"I hear ya, bud. YOLO. Let me find some shoes. Gonna need a mop anyways."

 

Two hours later, when Clint's finally cleaned up the kitchen, replaced his coffee machine (which was long overdue), gotten Lucky his pizza, awarded the newly-christened Coffee her caffeinated prize, and managed to steal a cup for himself, he's exhausted and in need of a nap. At least all three of them can see eye-to-eye on that.

**Author's Note:**

> Please don't give your dogs pizza or you cats coffee. When it comes to domesticity, Clint is nobody's role model.


End file.
